


voice full of money

by okayantigone



Series: friends with money [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Addiction, Alternate Universe, Author is horrified at American gun laws, Author plays it fast and loose with canon, Class Differences, Compliant more like COMPLAINT am i right ladies, Declan Lynch - Freeform, Drinking, Drug Abuse, Extra Content Compliant, F/M, Gen, Helen Gansey - Freeform, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Privare School Alumni, Recovery, Semi-Canon Compliant, Seth lives, Seth was in a gang briefly, The Raven Cycle-Freeform, The Yakuza - Freeform, Trauma, Unlikeable Character POV, joseph kavinsky - Freeform, rich people
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-06-09
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:32:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okayantigone/pseuds/okayantigone
Summary: Seth always thought the hardest part about dating a dethroned Manhattan heiress would be a relative incompatibility in the lifestyles they were used to. Not accidentally triggering a civil war within the local mob, and having to fight it out with her evil yakuza ex.Or the one where we're Gossip Girling it up, and Allison and Ichirou knew each other at school, for better or worse.//HIATUS





	1. seth has read the great gatsby (he knows how it ends)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PsycoticLollipop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PsycoticLollipop/gifts).



> This has been floating in my brain for a while, and I'm finally writing it, because it's exam revision season and I am not revising.  
> Since the story is sometimes going to be following Seth's point of view, there might be things in it that you won't like, such as intolerant language, and implied homophobia and ableism, and derogatory language towards women. Seth is not a nice guy, although he's trying to get there. 
> 
> My face cast for Seth is Dudley O'Shaughnessy :)
> 
> I am writing this story purely for fun, but I am also doing my best to wrangle it into fitting with canon. Obviously, I will also do everything in my Deus Ex Machina powers to save Andrew from suffering, avenge Neil, and save Riko's life. Heed the tags, and decide if this is the story for you.

view from the good seats

 

It never ceased to surprise him, day after day, that someone like Allison Reynolds would pick him. Allison was … golden. Not in a sappy metaphorical bullshit sense or whatever, but in practicality. She carried the smell of money with her, and the air around her perfectly coiffed hair vibrated with golden dust.

What was that line from that one dumb book he’d studied in school? A voice full of money? Yeah. That was her.

 

And yet, she’d picked him. Ugly messy nobody Seth Gordon, with his mean ass tempet, and his track marks, and his shitty fucking moods, and this park Avenue princess had deigned not only to notice him, but to give him the time of day, to want to _date_ him.

 

“I don’t do hookups, Gordon. I do relationships. So either you’re my boyfriend, or you’re not, and we don’t talk about this again.”

 

“Suppose you better start calling me Seth, then.”

 

If she was surprised, she hadn’t shown it. Just nodded to herself, like it was expected. No one told Allison Reynolds “no.” She was terrifying, and Seth was fucked.

 

Now well into his fifth year, when the terrifying process of graduating was barreling at him in a horrifying speed, Seth was mostly just annoyed that his smooth sailing towards just fucking _finishing_ the year would be interrupted by a loud mouthed menace with an attitude problem, like Kevin Day dragging his mafia-related baggage hadn’t been enough drama for a lifetime last year. Going out with his football bros was the only way he could think of blowing steam constructively that didn’t involve having a shouting match with Allison, although Matt had good naturedly offered to go a few rounds against him in the gym.

 

“You’re going out?” Kevin’s spineless act was getting more than a little exhausting. He was the only person on the team with a violently abusive ex, so as far as Seth was concerned, the rest of them were free to do whatever.

 

“Bar-hopping downtown,” Allison said, sliding a well-manicured hand in his jeans pocket and feeling around. He was wearing his nicest jeans, and even they weren’t that nice. He always thought he looked a little dull next to Allison’s all couture all designer all bling everything, but she never made him feel… lesser. Not for that, at least, no matter how mean and catty she got in their fights. All she found was his lighter, and a stick of gum, because he wasn’t a fucking idiot, but he couldn’t really fault her. His last relapse had been terrifying for them both, and she’d helped through that, even though they were broken up at the time.

 

She put the lighter back, and tossed the gum away. “Sometimes we have to remember we’re not the only athletes at this university,” she clapped hands with Dean and Chuck in amicable high fives. It always made Seth glad that she was getting along with his friends, even though he used every opportunity to accuse her of cheating on him with them when they were fighting.

 

“Aren’t you,” Kevin was obviously struggling to articulate in front of strangers. Finally, he settled on, “aren’t you worried about uh… harrassers,” he finished weakly. “You know,” he added, “violent ones?”

He was looking a little pale around the edges. Seth had half a mind to say something, but Allison’s hand curled against his forearm.

 

“No,” she said flatly. “I’m not worried. I have a gun.” She raised her clutch bag at Kevin in a mock salute.

 

“Let’s go celebrate our kickass football team, boys,” she called out cheerfully, before Seth could say anything else. Seth curled an arm around her thin waist, and pulled her into his side. In the heels she was wearing, she was just about as tall as him. He nuzzled her hair, breathing in her shampoo – something very extremely flowery.

 

“You’re armed?”

 

“Nah. My gun’s in the glove compartment. I’m not allowed to have it on the university rounds. You _know_ that.”  

 

“Still,” he slid his hand lower to the cup the curve of her ass in the tantalizing short dress. “It’s kinda hot that you have a gun.”

 

“Yeah? Wanna come to the range with me some time?”

 

Seth had spent his fair share of time handling firearms, in a much less civilized and legal way.

 

“Sure. And then we can do it in you car after the – “ he trailed off whispering things in her ears until she shoved him off with a laugh.

 

Dean and the guys jeered. “Come on dude, you can bring your bitch along but no excessive PDA,”

 

“Heard you loud and clear buddy,” Allison said, before Seth could respond and defend her honor. “If it wasn’t clear,” she jabbed him in the chest. “You’re my bitch.”

 

He was okay with that.

 

They might have passed a pleasant evening, had shit not gotten real. His new meds mixed with alcohol, which meant he was allowed to drink, and Allison was footing his drinks, which meant he got to go shot for shot with Dean, and then unwind with the fancy beer Allison bought him which she claimed was meant to be healthier for athletes, or whatever bullshit her magazines had told her. They ground on each other on the dancefloor, and her eyes were bright with mischief.

 

“God. Fucking feel that bass,” she breathed against his neck. The bass drop revebrated through the club, and he could taste it on the back of his throat like panic attack. The flashing lights made Allison’s freshly blowdried hair look neon yellow, and her throat was bared pale and inviting. He leaned in, wrapping his arms around her.

 

“You’re so fucking thirsty,” she teased when he pulled back.

 

“Hell yeah I am. Have you seen my girlfriend?”

 

Allison laughed. “Wanna have a quickie in the bathroom? I’m feeling naughty.”

 

As a general rule they tended not to date other people when they were on a break, which meant whenever they got back together, the makeup sex was spectacular, and they were both grownup enough to admit sometimes getting a little naughty excited them.

 

“You call me thirsty, huh? I’ll be waiting in the gender neutrals.”

 

The good part about all the bullshit policies enacted by the student union was the club having a gender neutral bathroom. He hoped Ally had thought to bring a condom in that purse of hers, because he wanted to get it on one way or another, and he wasn’t about to make her kneel on the dirty floor that was sticky and wet with god knows what.

 

He splashed some cold water on his face. He could hear a girl puking in the accessible stall, and he hoped she’d leave, because it wasn’t exactly a nice soundtrack. She did, emerging from it unperturbed, and dabbing her mouth with toilet paper. She gave him a questioning once over. He knew he cut a good picture, tall and athletic and muscular, but he shook his head and watched her leave.

 

He heard the bathroom door bang open.

 

“Jesus, finally!” he turned around, expecting to find himself with an armful of woman. Instead, he got jumped by a masked thug ,who definitely wasn’t pulling his punches.

 

Oh, well. There was the fight he’d been spoiling for.

 

Except the other guy clearly knew what he was doing, because Seth had enough pride to say he’d never gone down so quickly in a fight. The needle jabbed in his arm brought his brain to a halt. Oh. This then. Kevin’s abusive ex who was sweet on collateral damage. Right.

 

God, Allison would think he’s relapsed again. She’d think he disappointed her, like he did everyone else. Fuck.

 

“Hey, don’t move!”  
  
_How the fuck am I supposed to move, babydoll?_

He wanted to snap. His heart felt about three tons heavy.

 

“Call an ambulance! And the cops!”

 

_I’m in no condition to call anyone right now, Allison,_ his lips wouldn’t move.

 

Wait. Allison!

 

He slanted a glance in the direction of the doorway, where Allison, in her skyscraper heels and skimpy glittery dress, had her gun trained on the guy who’d just given Seth a shot of something really nice that was really gonna recalibrate this whole sobriety thing he’d been trying.

 

His last thought was _Fuck._

 


	2. the man smoking two cigarettes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit of a look at Allison's life before the Foxes, and her relationship with Ichirou through the years. It also features characters from The Raven Cycle - you don't need to have read TRC to understand it - they're glorified OC stand-ins, as far as I'm concerned. I'm playing it fast and loose with ages and timelines and whatnot. 
> 
> BEWARE that I am treating Nathan and DiMaccio kindly in the narrative. Allison is an unreliable narrator in this situation. She and Ichirou became close when they were both at low points in life mental-illness wise, and Ichirou always relied and trusted in Nathan, so Allison followed suit, because she had no reason to distrust and fear him (beyond the obvious that if she betrayed Ichirou, he'd kill her). 
> 
> The only reason Allison has a direct line to Kengo Moriyama, is because Ichirou's many reckless actions as a teenager resulted in Kengo wanting to have contact with all of Ichirou's close friends in case Ichirou pulled another disappearing act, and needed to be tracked down (for more of my headcanons on Ichirou Moriayama, read my story i'm sorry about the blood in your mouth). 
> 
>  
> 
> WARNINGS: this chapter includes mentions and allusions to self-harm, eating disorders and suicide attempts.  
> It also features a not-so broad, but strongly implied relationship between a minor and an older person (Ichirou and Nathan).

Allison remembers the long lazy stretch of summer after her parents disowned her, when she split her time between laying low in Ichirou’s clinically cold apartment, and drinking home made lemonade on the porch in Baltimore.

 

Nathan and Patrick are trading blows in the in-house gym, and Ichirou is meant to be at a clinic three states over doing intensive therapy, but instead he’s sitting on one of the benches, drinking a green spinach smoothie with his pills crushed into it, and his eyes are hollow, and and his skin is as white as the bandages around his arms. Allison is picking at the unseasoned rice, which is just about all she can stomach eating these days.

 

Being in love means not looking at each other, but looking in the same direction. Where Patrick goes for maximum damage, and on the offensive, Nathan relies on being leaner, faster, smaller. She listens to the sound of them trading blows. Ichirou’s face is impassive. He finishes his smoothie and licks his lips. Allison’s meant to be at school, for the last few weeks of senior year.

 

“You know I could take care of it, if you wanted me to,” Ichirou says mildly.

 

“What?”

 

She’s distracted by the sight of Nathan delivering punches in quick succession.

 

“This whole business with your family,” he elaborates. “Could give my uncle a call. You’ll be a starting line Raven by fall, and have professional sponsorship contracts lined up by Christmas.”

 

He rubs his bandaged wrists absent mindedly.

 

“Oh my god, NATHAN!” Allison shrieks, because Patrick manages to lay him out with a well aimed punch to the jaw. He helps his boss up. Nathan looks a little dazed, as he rests a hand against his jaw, and moves it a little.  
  
“I’ll live,” he drawls, and makes his way out of the ring.

 

“I don’t want you helping me,” Allison says, while Ichirou throws Nathan a bottle of water. “Not with this. I have an offer lined up already.”

 

Ichirou frowns. It’s all he seems to do these days.

 

“The foxes?” he says the name carefully, testing it in his mouth.

 

“Yeah.” Allison says. “I want to do it my way.”

 

Ichirou shrugs, spreading his arms out in a gesture he’s picked up from Nathan. It’s a gesture that says _I respect your choices, but I think they’re stupid._

She doesn’t want the rice anymore, so she nudges the container at him.

They filter into the kitchen so Nathan can ice his jaw. Patrick looks vaguely apologetic, but mostly just smug. Nathan allows it.

 

“My father wants to know what you’re doing for your birthday,” Ichirou says. At nineteen and a half he’s almost two years older than her. When she turns eighteen, there was going to be a celebration. As soon as she gets her hands on her trust fund, things will be much easier. She won’t have to rely on Ichirou anymore.

 

She remembers calling him in screaming hysterics, because her _parents kicked her out and she had nowhere to go, oh my god you have to help me._

 

Well, he hadn’t had to. But he did. A car picked her up from the curb in front of her family’s shiny home which she wasn’t welcome in anymore, and delivered her to the Moriyama stronghold’s doorstep, where security perfunctionary patted her down for weapons and sent her in. Kengo Moriyama was entertaining close circle in the south living room. She could hear laughter and quiet music – the unmistakeable sound of Ichirou and his father playing a duet on the piano together.

 

She stood in the kitchen awkwardly while the in-house chef made her dinner. Nathan emerged from the other half of the house, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, and dried blood under his manicured nails.

 

“Ichirou told me what happened,” he says mildly. He’s in good temper. Allison wonders whose screams the piano was meant to disguise.

 

He pours himself a glass of sparkling water, adds lemon juice to it, and sits at the island.

 

“Are you going to eat that?”

 

She pushes the plate of tataki beef at himand shakes her head.

 

He considers her for a moment. She knows in the abstract, that this man is dangerous. Like Ichirou is dangerous, like Declan is dangerous. They’re a different sort from her and Helen. But she doesn’t know Nathan-the-Butcher. She knows Nathan-the-older-married-man-Ichirou-is-in-love-with.

 

He had threatened her once. No attempts at subtlety. “You know who Ichirou is. You know who his family is. You know who I am and what I do. Yes?”

 

She’d nodded. Yes.

 

“Okay,” he’d said, clapping his hands and considered it a job done, smiling and congenial.

 

He liked her – she knew he did. And Kengo approved of her in the way a concerned parent might approve of the only friend a shy child manages to make. It doesn’t mean they won’t rip her throat out if she betrays Ichirou. If anything, they might make it slower.

 

Declan Lynch’s father is a mobster too, but it’s different. Niall had been congenial and smiling, and ready to take over the world. He hadn’t even considered making himself into a threat.

 

Allison wonders when her life started looking like this, but she doesn’t much mind it. When the guests are sent away, Ichirou makes his way into the kitchen. His hands are shaking and he looks exhausted. There are dark spots on his formal slacks, from where the cuts on his thighs have reopened.

 

“We’ll sort this out,” he promises, and draws her into his arms. “I’ll sort it out.” his voice is heavy with promise. A Moriyama promise.

 

Allison has the most money. Out of all their friends, Allison has the most money. Or, well, her family does. Ichirou comes as a close second. They’re almost evenly matched in the bank accounts department. Then Helen, and then Declan. Joey K is a scrawny, wide eyed little menace, and his father is dead, so he needs to step it up. His money is blood money in an uncomfortable way. He’s too young to be their friend. He’s too traumatized for it, broken in ways Allison isn’t sure she wants to find out. He does business with Nathan, which Allison suspects is Nathan’s way of keeping tabs on a _teenager, jesus Christ, he’s a child._

She could have called Helen. The Ganseys would have put her up in their beautiful town house, and Helen would have raged with her, and let her borrow money and clothes. She still does, but Allison is holed up in Ichirou’s new apartment, directing the interior decorators who are still putting up the finishing touches.

 

She could have called Declan. Declan would have put her up in one of the Lynch properties in DC no problem. Or sorted her out with a hotel.

 

Hell, she could have called Joey K. He was a good kid, despite it all. He’d have let her stay with him and his prozac-glazed mother as long as she needed.

 

But she had called Ichirou. Nathan had picked up.

 

“Allison, I need you to calm down, tell me what happened. Ichirou is busy right now. Tell me what happened, are you hurt?”

 

Just her pride. Just her split lip where her _mother slapped her._ Just her heart. Just everywhere.

 

She recognized Jackson behind the wheel of the car that came to pick her up.

 

She wonders when her life started looking like this, when she’s sat, still sniffling a little, at Kengo Moriyama’s kitchen island. He walks in, regal and handsome. He tells her not to worry about anything. She’s Ichirou’s friend – she’s a friend of the _family_ – he says it with such finality and gravitas.

 

She lays low between New York and Baltimore, hiding from reporters. She misses the last few weeks of high school, and graduates _in absentia._ Ichirou gets her a car. It’s a Porsche, and it’s bright pink, and she _loves_ it.

When her eighteened birthday rolls around, her lawyer is there, and she signs over ten percent interest of her parent’s company over to Kengo and Ichirou. It’s her _thank you_.

Ichirou’s semester at Wharton has started, so only Helen and Declan come to see her off.

 

“Don’t be a stranger, Reynolds,” Declan says, and claps her on the shoulder. The blow of Niall’s death has made him duller. Nathan is looking into it. Joey K doesn’t hang around as much anymore, because Ilya Prokopenko is still missing, presumed dead, or kidnapped, or whatever happens when you piss off the Polish mob. There’s too many mobs for Allison to keep track of. Nathan is Polish, but he’s yakuza. Declan is Irish. Helen is just an old money Republican.

 

She remembers that brutal messy summer a lot, when Ichirou gets checked in and out of rehab like nobody’s business, and the gossip columns should be talking about nothing else, but they _don’t._

 

When her twentieth rolls around, Nathan has just gone to jail, and Ichirou’s hands shake more than ever. They make out a little bit in the backseat of the Bentley. He gifts her Moriyama Atlantic stock, and a position on the board of the Maiho Moriyama  Foundation, if she wants it after graduation.

 

When they were younger, they used to hide away at parties, still under the watchful eye of a bodyguard or two, but away from the boring adults, and they would talk about getting access to their trust funds, about balancing their stock portfolios, and the things they would do when they have the world in the palm of their hands.

 

Now Ichirou is alone, and cold in places he shouldn’t be, and Helen’s too preoccupied with a younger brother that seems to be slipping further and further away in a PTSD Fueled quest that she can’t help with, and Declan’s family is splintering and fracturing along the lines of wanted and unwanted sibling rivalries, and Joey K, last she heard, was ruling New Jersey with an iron first that would make Nate proud if he heard of it, but that’s all _okay,_ because on her end things are fine. On her end, she has a sort of maybe boyfriend, and she’s going to graduate soon, and she manages to eat more often than not, and then. And then.

 

And then Ichirou’s brother attacks her lifestyle swiftly, directly, and without mercy, and Ichirou’s phone, for the first time since she’s known him, goes to voicemail.

 

Nathan is in jail, and she doesn’t want to abuse her direct line to Kengo Moriyma with something that could be resolved at the lower levels of the hierarchy, so she thumbs through her contacts, and finally calls Patrick Dimaccio. She still remembers him laying Nathan out with one punch, and the two of them smiling about it.

 

He picks up, and he sounds wide awake, and he is patient with her hysterics.

 

“Are you hurt? Is anyone hurt?”

 

“Yes!” she screams. “YES, YES! MY BOYFRIEND, MY Boyfriend – “

 

She loses steam and starts sobbing, uncontrollably, and the EMTs in the ambulance give her a wide berth. Seth’s skin looks ashen, when just hours ago he had been so bright and vibrant. She can’t get a hold of herself, because she was friends with Ichirou (yakuza), and Declan (Irish mob), and Helen (old money Republican), but this was _never meant to be her life._

She’s glad Neil is with the monsters. Because if he was there…. she’d have killed him her own damn self. Patrick promises to look into it. To let her know _who did this._

 

“Keep trying Ichirou,” he says. “I’ll have Nate call you.”

 

Allison nods numbly, realizes he can’t see her over the phone, says “Yes, okay, yes, thank you Patrick.”

 

Then she breathes deeply in and out. And then she calls Wymack.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allison starts calling in some favors from good friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first few lines of the chapter I took directly from the book, with the Monsters' reactions to Seth dying. The transitions in this chapter are super clunky, and i'm not happy with the dialogue, but like i said, I'm only writing this for fun, so I won't sweat it.

“Seth." Andrew hung up and tapped the phone against his thigh. "Someone found him face-down in the bathroom at Bacchus. It's exactly how I warned him he was going to clock out, not that he ever listened to me."

 

Neil was hearing things. "Seth overdosed?”

 

Andrew shook his head. “He’s in hospital right now, getting his stomach pumped. Again. Allison is in hysterics. Apparently it wasn’t an accident.”

 

Kevin was pale, his mouth falling open, eyes widening with something very close to panic.

 

“Riko,” he breathed out, and collapsed against the car, apparently unable to support his own weight anymore. Then he turned a furious glare to Neil. “He did because of you – the thing – the thing you said – “ he was heaving, “the thing you said about our team being small… it was a message.”

 

“It would have been a message,” Andrew clarified. “If he’d died. Now it’s just a hindrance. Apparently someone jumped Seth, and he’s in custody now. Although Allison almost shot the asshole. Did you know she’s armed?”

 

Neil thought, he might have to start hanging out around Allison. To ask where she bought a gun from. Where she went to practice. It hadn’t even occurred to him. It might have been too suspicious. But he could have a decent looking carry permit to match his current name within weeks, and things were getting very violent from all the wrong directions. He knew the damage a knife could do. Intimately. But a bullet was faster than a blade. Even Nathan had always gone out with a shoulder holster hidden under the fancy cut of his suit jacket.

 

“We should go back,” Kevin said, voice choked up.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Andrew shoved the phone in his back pocket. “There’s nothing we can do now if we go back. Allison might punch you, but Seth’s stable for now, and Wymack says they’ve got a handle on things. We’ll go back tomorrow, after we get sleep.”

 

“Right,” Nicky seemed eager to agree. Aaron nodded impassively. There was nothing to discuss. The shut of the door behind them echoed hollow in Neil’s chest, at the thought of how close Seth had come to death.

 

 

Allison sat in the uncomfortable hospital chair in Seth’s private room, her knees bouncing restlessly. Up-down-up-down-up down. Her heels clattered on the linoleum. She tapped the sharp points of her nails over her phone screen.

 

Finally, she unlocked her phone and scrolled her contacts.

 

Ichirou’s rang, and rang, and rang on empty.

 

“You have reached the voice mail inbox of Ichirou Moriyama. I’m sorry I can’t get to the phone right now. Please leave a message.”

 

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip. She tried the number two more times, and then said fuck it, and moved on to her next contact.

 

Helen Gansey picked up on the third ring.

 

“Allyyyyyy!” she sound sunny and excited. Allison could easily picture her, perfect blonde, smiling and cheerful in the beautiful stately Gansey home.

 

“Helen, I need a favor, and I need you to not ask me about it,” Allison said, and it took every ounce of her energy not to start crying ang go into hysterics again. She could cry some more later, but right now, she needed to focus on just how pissed off she was.

 

“Okay,” Helen said slowly. “Is it the kind of favor that you would normally ask of Ichirou?”

 

“Yes.” Allison said flatly. “But he’s not picking up and I … I don’t know for a fact that he didn’t have anything to do with the – with the thing I’m going to ask about now. How much pull does your family have with the cops? And how much with the cops in South Carolina?”

 

“Well, it is a red state,” Helen said thoughtfully. Allison could hear bedsheets rustling. On the other end of the line, Helen was probably moving to her computer. “I’m guessing you need more than permission to namedrop my mom, though?”

 

“I need to be able to play it fast and loose with the justice system,” Allison said flatly. “But I can’t get to any of my dad’s pocket cops, so – “

 

“I got you,” Helen said. Allison could hear the tapping of a keyboard. “That should do it.”

 

“I owe you one. How much would your mom like for her next campaign fund?”

 

“I’ll let you know. I might need you to go to a few Young Republicans meetings too.”

 

“My boyfriend’s black, and my best friend’s gay, Helen.”

 

“I can still hit that unsend button,” Helen said, not meanly. “I’m sure you can breach your moral principles for two hours of smiling and photographs for the good of America.”

 

“Right. Well. Thank you anyway, Helen. I’ll call you later, and … tell you more, I guess.”

 

“Yeah, yeah,” she could practically see Helen waving a hand in the air. “Don’t worry about it. Stay safe, okay? I’ll see if I can track Ichirou down for you.”

 

Allison hung up, and leaned back against the chair, the plastic digging into her back. Seth had looked at her. He had looked right _at_ her. Like he’d wanted to tell her something. God.

 

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Renee knocked on the door and came in with a coffee.

 

“How is he?” she asked gently.

 

Allison shrugged. “He’ll live. He’s stable.”

 

She let the warmth seep to her hands through the cheap cardboard cup. Renee hugged her, and Alluson buried her face in the other girl’s side. She was gonna wring Neil’s skinny little neck when she saw him next. That was a fucking promise.

 

The door opened again, and she looked up, expecting it to be a doctor, but it was Wymack, stern faced, and looking like he’d aged another ten years overnight, which yeah – she sympathized, but it wasn’t her fault.

 

“Allison, there’s a man outside wants to speak to you, says he’s been sent by a … Patrick DiMaccio?”

 

“Sorry,” Allison stood up, and left her coffee in Renee’s capable hands. She held her clutch a little tigther, feeling the shape of her gun. The man was looking around the waiting room, seemingly aimlessly, but Allison knew he was armed under his light bomber jacket, and his boots were made for kicking skulls in.

 

She didn’t recognize the face. There had been a major house clean after Nathan went to jail, so it was possible it was a new hire. Or someone sent to finish the job. Nathan had always told her to be thorough, if nothing else. She picked up the phone, and Patrick answered on the first ring.

 

“What’s the stitch, dollface?”

 

“Did you send me security?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“What’s he look like?”

 

Patrick laughed on the other end of the line. “Like Captain America, but shorter.”

 

Yeah. Allison could kind of see the resemblance.

 

She approached the man. In her heels, she towered over him easily. “I’m Allison Reynolds.”

 

He shook her hand. “Yeah, Patrick said. You on the phone with him right now?”

 

“Sure am,” she gave him a thin smile. She could hear Patrick talking to someone on the other side.

 

“Lola’s gotten in touch with Nathan. Not much he can do from jail, but he’ll give you a call if knowledge trickles his way.”

 

“Great. Thanks.”

 

“Not a problem.”

 

He hung up without saying goodbye.

 

“So where do you want me?” Short Captain America asked. “Patrick says you’re the boss for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Awesome.” Allison said flatly. “In that case I want you in the hospital room with my boyfriend, keeping an eye on him.”

 

“Right,” he said. “Wait, boyfriend? I thought you were Moriyama’s girl, and that’s why  - “

 

“Don’t ever imply that about me and Ichirou.” Allison rolled her eyes. “Trust me, when I say that that particular experiment between us did not end well.”

 

“Sure.” he shrugged again. If keeping Allison Reynolds happy meant keeping Patrick happy, meant keeping the fucking Butcher happy, he wasn’t going to ask a single question, and just do as he was told, because he’d _seen_ what happened to people that pissed Nathan off.

 

Deputy Commissioner Sloane was not used to being bossed around by pretty college girls who looked like they’d just stepped off the cover of Cosmo, and yet there he was, trying not to quake in his boots when faced with the wrath of Allison something-or-other.

 

“Whatever you do, make her happy,” the higher ups had said.

 

“You got a telephone book I could use?” blondie asked with a quirk of a perfectly painted on eyebrow. Her glossy lips twitched in a smile, but her face was impassive. “I kid, I kid. Are you done questioning?”

 

“Yeah,” Sloane said, then remembered that he was the cop, and she was the civilian and straightened up. “Yes.”

 

“I want to talk to him.”

 

“That would be highly irregular,” Sloane started. The glare she fixed him was frosty and ethereally calm. “But I can give you five minutes,” he finished.

 

Just who the hell were these people? It had all gotten rather fuzzy when the commissioner had pretty much shouted him down to do _anything_ to keep Allison happy. She probably came from money, and money for sure talked. Wasn’t there some billionaire scumbag with an Allison in the family? Wife – no, too young... daughter?

 

He stepped in the room behind the two way glass.

 

“Hello,” Allison said amiably and smiled, flashing teeth. She took a seat opposite the man on the other side of the table. He was wearing a Ravens fan merch hoodie, and he stared her back impassively. “What, not gonna say hi back? I know for sure you must have better manners than this.”

 

It was his turn to smile, nastily at her. “Hello, then,” he said. “Do you think I am scared of you? Little rich girl, trying to play politics in the big leagues?”

 

She could see the edges of his tattoos poking under the sleeves of the hoody.

 

“You’ve still got all your fingers,” she remarked casually. “Makes a girl wonder. What those hands do… on whose orders…”

 

He wasn’t as good at disguising the flinch as he thought he was. Riko must have scraped the bottom of the barrel of his resources to avoid detection. His mistake.

 

“I’m going to walk out of here,” he said. “And there’s nothing you can do about that.”

 

“Yeah,” Allison said casually. “You are. Going to walk out of here, that is. But I don’t think they told you where you’ll be going.”

 

She raised a hand demonstratively to look at her Breguet. It was only a little dramatic, she knew, but Seth was in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines, and so she figured, some theatrics were probably in order.

 

“Any minute now,” she said. She didn’t have to fake looking pleased with herself.

 

The door opened, and a woman in uniform came in, and handed Allison a manila envelope. She looked between the two of them for a long time, before walking out.

 

Allison scanned the papers. Damn she missed the kind of efficiency that came with the sort of pull she was temporarily borrowing. An entire trial record was in her hands.

 

“You may have come close to Columbia, drug and murder capital of the world, but,” she slid the folder over to his side of the table. “You’re going to prison in Maryland. They don’t… usually… put attempted murders in white collar prisons, but hey. This is your first offense.”

 

She watched the dawning horror in his eyes, as she fumbled with the clasp on her watch, until she managed to undo it. Her nail polish had gone to shit, but what can you do. Nervously picking at her nails while she waited on the phone, pacing the hospital floor was the only thing that kept her from making a massive scene.

 

She put the watch on the table.

 

“How about keep that,” she said cheerfully. “It will help you count your minutes.”

 

He knew he was being mocked. It couldn’t be a coincidence that he was being sent to FCI Cumberland. It was a set up. There was no other explanation. It was a set up. All he’d been told to do was make it look like an overdose and disappear. No one was supposed to come in. No one was supposed to interfere. He didn’t know about the girl.

 

The watch was distinctly feminine. He turned it over in his hands, forcing his eyes to focus on the inscription like it might offer some sort of clue.

 

 _congratulations on your recovery, allison. – affectionately yours_ 森山 (Moriyama) 憲(Kengo) と (&) 郎 (Ichirou)

 

The girl’s smile was thin and unforgiving. “Yeah,” she said. “I’m playing in the big leagues.”

 

She stood up, and flipped her hair heavily over one shoulder. The watch would make its way back to her sooner rather than later anyway. Maybe with the wrist it was attached to. She walked out of the room, and nodded at the deputy commissioner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The only point of Short Captain America is that he needs to be someone new, so he won't recognize Neil when Neil and the monsters return.
> 
> Breguet watches go for about 20k. Allison's was a gift from Kengo and Ichirou when she got released from her stint as an in-patient for treating her ED. 
> 
> FCI Cumberland is a white-collar prison in Maryland. Nathan is there. Allison is "playing it fast and loose with the justice system", and sending Seth's attempted killer straight to Nathan to be disciplined. Or, you know... straight up murdered.
> 
> And yes, things are about to become a whole lot more complicated when Allison inevitably finds out who Neil is.


End file.
